So I hop out of the shower this afternoon into my squeaky clean bathroom (what can I say, I got a bug up my butt to do some cleaning around mi casa), do the whole shave thing since I go from baby-face to grizzly within 24 hours, and that’s when I see it – one really long, really white strand of hair nestled in the warm embrace of my wet black hair.
Now, this is not me freaking out about getting older. Honestly, I have never felt any sort of trepidation about aging. Maybe it’s because I don’t have a little rugrat running around getting older and thus reminding me of my own age. The only time that ever happens is when I suddenly remember “Oh shit, I’m how old again?” or when I see some cute gal at a bar or on TV and realize that I’m no longer “just a few years older”. The former just kind of lends itself to my ever-increasing absent-mindedness that just comes with being an old fart, so at least there’s a positive in there somewhere. As for the latter – who knows, maybe it’ll keep me from being a dirty old man…. nah…
But getting back to the hair – I made a decision a long time ago that I wasn’t going to be one of those vain people who dyes their hair to “look young”. I may be an old bastard on the outside, but nothing will ever make me feel old on the inside. No, this isn’t the first grey hair on my head, but each time I see them I think it’s just another badge of honor for having made it through life.